


My Powers Of Resistance, They Do Nothing

by helens78



Series: Canadian Slayers [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Canadian Actor RPF (C6D)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Vampire Slayer, Bathing/Washing, Community: kink_bingo, F/M, First Kiss, Hair, Humor, Shower Sex, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-08
Updated: 2011-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-20 05:42:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ellen comes by covered in something horrible, she manages to talk Callum into letting her take a shower at his place.  He is really, really determined not to let her talk him into anything else.  Except he kind of sucks at that determination, and she's been wearing down his resistance for a few years now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Powers Of Resistance, They Do Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a few years since "I Am In So Much Trouble"; I'm assuming Ellen is of age by now.

Whenever there's a knock at Callum's door at two in the morning, it's never anything good. (Well, sometimes it's Hugh, and sometimes there are blowjobs or handjobs, but other than Hugh, who is mostly on the other side of the country anyway, it's never anything good.)

Standing on Callum's doorstep is most definitely not Hugh, and neither blowjobs nor handjobs are likely to be forthcoming. In fact, the minute Callum sees Ellen, blowjobs and handjobs are pretty much the last thing from his mind.

"What the--" He raises a hand to his face, as if holding his hand between him and her and--whatever in hell she's got all over her--will really help with the smell. "What did you roll in? What _is_ that?"

"You don't want to know. Can I use your shower?"

She looks bedraggled and, and horrible, and like something out of _Carrie_ except she's not wearing a prom dress and some of the blood is blue, some is green, some is black, and most of it is _chunky_. She smells like nothing that naturally belongs on this world.

"Why my shower? Why not, why not Drew's, or Zoe's, or--"

"You were closer," she says, batting her eyelashes. A drop of something brown falls off one of them and lands in her eye; she flinches and reaches up with one hand to clean it off, but thinks better of it at the last second. Probably a good idea; her hands are worse.

Callum sighs and comes forward, digging a handkerchief out of his pocket. (Turns out expecting Hugh was good for one thing, at least.) He carefully cleans her eyelashes, both sets of them, and she blinks up at him, smiling a little.

"Shower? Please?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Wait--" She squints into his apartment. "I really don't want to drip this on your carpet. Can you bring me a towel? And maybe lay out some sheets to get me from here to there."

"Uh--yeah, okay," Callum says, thinking about the distance between the doorway and the bathroom. Maybe he'd better drag out the tarps.

"And a garbage bag. The clothes are a total loss."

She starts unbuttoning her shirt, and he almost hits his head on the doorway, trying to turn around and get to the garage. Tarps. Got to find the tarps.

* * *

After the tarps are in place and Callum's come back out to the front porch, towel and garbage bag held out in front of him, his other hand covering his eyes, Ellen laughs at him.

"Come on. It's nothing you haven't seen before, right?" There are rustling noises, hopefully her clothes going into the garbage bag. "Or--well, okay, naked Slayer covered in demon offal, maybe you haven't. I hope not. _I_ sure as hell never needed to see it."

"Demon offal?"

"I'm covered, you can look now."

He peeks. She's got the towel wrapped around her. She's a little stained from the--Jesus-- _demon offal_ , but the towel covers everything it's supposed to.

She holds out the garbage bag. "Can you deal with this while I hop in the shower?"

"Yes," he says, and she minces in while he heads around the side of the building to throw the bag directly into the dumpster.

* * *

"This is what you use for shampoo? Really?"

Ellen ducks her head out from behind the shower curtain, and Callum nearly backs out of the bathroom as quickly as he came in. He was really only in here to--to--okay, he hadn't exactly worked that out. To see if she needed anything. Which, apparently, she does.

"What's the matter with the shampoo?"

"It's not working," she says, pointing at her hair. "Like that isn't obvious. And now that I think about it--" She squints at his hair. "Maybe this explains something."

"Hey!"

"Look, the tea tree oil stuff is nice, very green of you, but it doesn't do crap versus demon offal."

"Okay, fine! Let me look around."

Having an excuse not to look at her is a good thing. It isn't like he hasn't thought about Ellen in the shower--hey, he's only human. But the juxtaposition of rosy-pink-and-clean Ellen's body, and the horrible green-and-purple chunks of demon offal in her hair... it's going to ruin a perfectly great fantasy, and looking at her in the shower is, he reminds himself, _fucking inappropriate anyway_.

The cabinets don't offer any solutions. Callum sighs. "I got nothing."

"Fine. Fine, I'll just--ow! Fuck."

"What?" Callum looks up, but she's behind the shower curtain again, and he is so not going in after her. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she says, and now her voice has lost that sweet perky tone it usually has. "I just--hurt my shoulder a little. God, I'm never going to get this crap out."

There's a gap in the conversation where he just knows he's supposed to offer to help, but... but...

He drops his forehead into his hand and sighs. "Can I help?"

"Yes!" She peeks out from behind the shower curtain again. "Strip down."

"I didn't mean--! No!" He crosses his arms over his chest. "No! Just--no!"

"Oh, please, like you have anything _I_ haven't seen. If it makes you feel better, you can close your eyes, okay? Hell, if it makes you feel better, leave your clothes on. Get soaked for all I care. Just--please." Her voice softens, and she gives him that "innocent kitten" look, the kind of expression that he knows not to trust, because for all she's purring now, later he's going to find out she shredded his favorite Dead Boys t-shirt. Or got demon offal on it. "If you think it stinks..."

Callum's pretty sure his ability to resist anything has been getting worn thin for the last two years, ever since they started working together, and now he can hear a faint _pop_ as the thread finally snaps. Innocent kitten eyes are a _menace_.

"Okay," he says, "but I'm keeping my eyes closed. And I'm not getting naked with you."

He does strip down to his t-shirt and his boxer-briefs, and he closes his eyes. He hears the shower curtain being pulled back, and there's a hot rush of steam as it billows out into the room. Ellen takes him by the wrist, and she guides him into the bathtub.

"Step up and over--that's it."

He knows the dimensions of his own bathtub--he should, he's been living here a good eight months now, ever since that incident with the witches and the flamethrowers in the old apartment--but he's not used to navigating around another person. He holds still, hands in the air like he's offering to surrender, until she gives him the shampoo bottle.

"My hair's already wet," she says. "Just... come closer, and I'll put my back to the spray, and you can lather me up while I rinse off. Okay?"

"Uh," he says, because _lather me up_ , God, she _never_ plays fair. He takes a good deep breath, focusing on the demon offal. _Whew._ They need to market that stuff; kills erections _dead_.

Eyes closed, he can still work a shampoo bottle, and he still knows where the rack in the back corner is. He gets a big handful of shampoo and lets her guide his hands into the spray to get them wet, so he can work the shampoo into a lather.

She keeps her hands on his arms while he's soaping them up. He tries not to think about it.

When she guides his hands into her hair, he cringes a little at first. There really are still chunks in there, and they're kind of stuck on. It's not as bad as glue, thank God, but it takes some effort, and having his arms extended all the way doesn't make this easy. Eventually, he takes a step closer, and when a bolt of lightning doesn't drop down from the sky to strike him dead (hopefully taking out the upstairs neighbors' stereo while it's on the way), he has a slightly better angle, and redoubles his efforts.

Soon enough, her hair smells a hell of a lot better, and it feels clean to the touch. She pulls away and rinses her head, and then puts his hands into the spray to rinse them, too.

"One more go," she says. "You know how this works--lather, rinse, repeat."

"Yeah," he says. His tongue feels kind of thick in his mouth, and in all honesty, it's not the only thing feeling thick right now. She's right there, right in front of him, he's been touching her, but he is a _good person_ and he is _not taking advantage_ , damn it.

She steps right up to him and presses her body against his, and he thinks he garbles out a whimper, but it turns out she's picking up the shampoo bottle from the rack behind him, where he set it down.

"You're going to need a little more of this," she says softly, taking his hand in hers and pouring a palmful of shampoo into it. Callum swallows and nods. If he opened his eyes right now, he'd see her, flushed from the shower, clean, probably smiling at him.

"I'm going to turn around," she tells him. "Here we go."

She turns, and then she backs up a step again. This time it's her back against his front, and he gets his arms out of the way out of instinct and the desire not to get soap in her--eye. Or wherever.

It means her whole back gets pressed up against his chest, her ass against his crotch, and he is so, so glad he's wearing boxer-briefs, at least, because if he were just hanging loose out there, he couldn't even pretend he's not hard as a rock. At least right now, he can pretend it's a stake in his pocket or something. In case of shower-based vampire attacks.

"Come on."

He takes a deep breath and slides his soapy hands through her hair, and the minute his fingertips touch her scalp, she groans. She rubs her ass against his crotch--so fucking evil--but he doesn't want to stop, doesn't want to stop feeling that, doesn't want to take his hands out of her hair. It's awkward, there isn't really enough room, but he rubs her head with his fingertips, giving her one of those hardcore scalp massages like he gets at the salon (he is so not telling her where he picked up his technique), and she moans a little louder every time he strokes his hands across her head.

He pushes her forward, gently, and moves his hands down so he can rub the back of her neck, too. From there, it's a nice thorough shampoo for the rest of her hair, and then he moves up again, cupping her head in one hand while he goes in deep and really works his way through her hair and down her neck with the other. He switches off when he's done, getting the other side, and she doesn't even have to tell him when she's turning around to rinse off; he can feel it.

He steps forward with her, eyes still closed. He's come this far; might as well help out with the rinse, too. She tilts her head back, and he follows the motion with his fingers. Together, they move her hair into the spray, and he rinses off his hands and then helps her get the suds out of her hair. He's probably getting soap into her eyes, but she's not complaining.

"Callum?"

Her hair's not soapy anymore; it's almost squeaking, it's so clean. She smells good, really good, like the faintly leather-scented soap he uses and his tea tree oil shampoo. There is no earthly reason for him to be in this shower with her now.

She wraps her arms around his waist and pulls him close, and he tries to stop smelling her, too. He squeezes his eyes shut as tightly as he can.

"There's not really anything wrong with my shoulder. Or, well, I _did_ hurt my shoulder, but that was before. I'm fine now."

"This is supposed to surprise me?" he asks, voice hoarse. His t-shirt's sticking to him; for all he knows, it isn't covering anything, either, and the stake-in-my-pocket excuse is about as flimsy as it comes.

"You can open your eyes if you want."

He shivers, but no; no. He's not going to--

She kisses him.

Her mouth is warm and soft, so soft, and the sweetest thing he's tasted in forever. He moans out loud, his arms reaching around her, pulling her close. He can feel the spray against the backs of his hands, and the water's finally getting cold, but she doesn't move out of it, and neither does he.

 _-end-_


End file.
